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It was a stupid thing, really.
Lazing on the couch with his legs intertwined with Ilya’s, his head on the other man’s chest while he relished in the quiet around them, Shane thought of the story his mother had told him when he was younger. At that age, it felt like a silly story. One a child believed with wide eyes full of wonder, with the curiousity of a newborn deer. Each and every time his mother told the story, though, Shane listened.
Perhaps because it was a comfort. Or because she claimed that it had brought her and Shane’s father together. Shane had sat, enraptured each and every time Yuna put him to bed with that story. After a long day on the rink, or a tough day at school, it was like a balm to the heart. A certainty that somewhere, out there in the scary world, someone lived just like Shane who belonged to him. And who he belonged to, tied together by a simple red string.
He had, over the years, kind of forgotten about the entire thing. About the piece of red string attached to his wrist, tugging him closer and closer to his soulmate as the minutes passed. Yuna, until Shane was old enough, kept telling that Shane couldn’t see the ribbon but that he would feel it once it snapped into place. Once it pulled tight as he made eye contact with his one person.
Shane never believed in soulmates as he got older. It had simply never been in the cards for him, or so he thought. Now, he had Ilya Rozanov in his cabin, the two of them trying their hardest to enjoy the last few hours they had together before they had to return to the real world. The one beyond the lake, where no one knew about them and they would have to hide. Ilya had to go back to Boston, and Shane had to go to Montreal. They had a season to play as rivals until Ilya changed teams and moved to Ottawa.
“Have you ever heard of the red string theory?” The question left Shane’s mouth before he could stop it. Ilya’s hand froze its movements in his hair, clearly processing Shane’s words. They had turned on the television, but Shane hadn’t focused on that. Instead, he settled into Ilya’s body and laid there, treasuring the touches and gentle kisses Ilya placed to his forehead and the top of his head every once and a while. He still couldn’t believe he had this, now. That he was permitted to enjoy this, to love Ilya even behind closed doors.
Ilya shifted slightly, making Shane look up at him. With the large light turned off — Shane hated that thing — Ilya was cast in the glow of the lamp standing in the corner, the candles burning on the shelves. The vanilla scented candle was Ilya’s choice, and Shane loved it. Had watched Ilya hesitate between vanilla and lavender, before making his choice and using his own lighter to light it. It stood on the coffee table, flame flickering and swaying. “The what?”
“The red string theory.” Shane repeated, unable to keep a smile from creeping up on his cheeks as Ilya looked at him, confused. “It originated in China, but it’s this big thing in Japanese folklore.”
“What is it?” Ilya asked, raising an eyebrow. His hand travelled down to where Shane’s rested on his torso, taking it and squeezing. He was tired — his eyes looked heavy, and they’d spent the entire day at Shane’s parents lakehouse, enjoying the fact that they owned two canoes. It had been a tiring yet fulfilling day, and still, Ilya looked eager to know. To learn. “Tell me.”
Shane smiled again. He dug his nose into Ilya’s torso, wanting to fuze their bodies together. Tomorrow, they had to say goodbye. Ilya would fly to Boston and Shane would drive to Montreal. They wouldn’t see each other for a few weeks at the very least. The thought alone made Shane want to cry. “Basically — everyone has a piece of red string around their wrist. It’s infinite, can stretch across entire continents, and connects someone to their soulmate.”
Ilya hummed. He let go of Shane’s hand, taking his wrist instead. His fingers were almost long enough to wrap around Shane’s wrist entirely, to form a circle using the tip of his indexfinger and thumb. Shane swallowed. “It is invisible?”
“Yeah,” Shane replied, nodding. He looked at Ilya’s wrist, imagined the red piece of string there. Perhaps, the pull he had felt in Saskatchewan had been his string pulling tight, connecting him to Ilya. “It’s something my mom told me about when I was a kid.”
“Yuna has the string too?” Ilya asked, a small smile appearing on his face. Shane’s heart sung. After his father saw them together and they went over to talk to them, his parents had warmed up to Ilya. Had taken one look at him and essentially said ‘yeah, alright. We can handle another one.’. It had taken a bit for Ilya to call them by their first names, but it sounded easy now. Like Ilya had known them all his life.
Perhaps, if he had, things would have been easier.
Shane hummed, leaning up to kiss the bare skin of Ilya’s neck. “She does. And it pulled her to my father.”
“It pulled me to you.” Ilya whispered then, his smile blinding in the otherwise dark room. Shane swallowed, a sudden onslaught of tears threatening to spill. “It is nice.”
“Yeah,” Shane replied, moving so he was laying on Ilya’s shoulder instead. Ilya accomodated him with ease, pulling Shane impossibly closer. It hung in the air between them; the knowledge that they needed to say goodbye tomorrow. That their little bubble was about to burst, and would shatter all over the place until they could be together again. Part of Shane wanted to scream, to throw caution into the wind and march Ilya into the airport tomorrow and kiss him right there and then. Of course, the sensible part of him took over. Their careers would come to an end with one swift decision. Ilya and him had worked too hard for that. “It is. I always loved it.”
“Do they stay connected?” Ilya’s voice was soft as he spoke into Shane’s hair. Shane moved his other hand, placed it on top of Ilya’s chest. Like this, he felt Ilya’s heartbeat. He cherished it, tried to memorize the speed at which it moved. Tomorrow night, he hoped he could replicate it in his head to help him sleep.
Shane hummed. “Mom says they do.”
“You’re connected to me.” Ilya said, like it was a given. And now, it was.
“Yes. And you to me.”
+++
Shane always needed to recalibrate after a roadtrip. Three games so quickly after another had tired him out to no end, even though they had managed to win two of them. The Admirals had fought a hard fight, winning by one goal, and Scott had looked more radiant than ever before during the hand shake after the game. The envy in Shane’s belly had grown from a small hole to a cavern, his FaceTime call with Ilya in the hotel later helping to calm him down slightly.
Buffalo had been an easy feat, and while Dallas Kent tried his hardest in Toronto, they lost, too. Shane relished that win more than anything else.
Now, though, he needed to reset. He had already created a list in his head of things to do on the flight back, and as he took off his shoes and padded into his own apartment, Shane prepared to do all of it before going to bed. He was exhausted, but he needed to get his laundry in the machine. Needed to do some yoga, shower in his own shower and perhaps read. Tomorrow was a day off, though Shane planned on asking Hayden to go for a run with him.
Before he could walk into his laundry room, though, something on the kitchen counter caught his eye. Shane frowned. The only people with access to his apartment were his parents, and they were two hours away in Ottowa. As far as he knew, they hadn’t come by. They never did when Shane was on the road — they didn’t have a reason to. They liked Montreal, sure, but only when their son was playing.
Fear made Shane freeze. He took out his phone as quickly as he could, snapping a picture of the parcel on the kitchen counter.
Shane: did you do this?
Despite the later hour, it didn’t take long for his mother to reply.
Mom <3: open it.
Shane sent a few question marks, but his mother didn’t reply anymore. She disappeared, going offline, and Shane huffed. So his parents had been in his apartment. They had keys for a reason and Shane didn’t have secrets for them anymore, but what had they been doing here? In Montreal, of all places?
He shuffled forward, rolling his suitcase until it hit the counter and stopped moving. Shane dropped the handle and reached for the package. He waited — for what, he didn’t know. Perhaps for it to explode? For poison to seep out of it? He hadn’t been joking when telling Rose Landry that people made threats about kidnapping him. Then again, if that was what this was, his mother wouldn’t have told him to open it.
Shane trusted his mother, so he ripped the tape off and opened the package easily. Inside, a black velvet box rested on the bottom. Shane’s heart sped up at the sight of it. He reached forward, taking the box and discarding the package with ease. It was heavy, the fabric soft as Shane caressed it. Swallowing, he lifted the lid.
A gasp left him, echoing around the empty apartment. In the box lay a dark red bracelet, a small diamond embedded in the middle. With a shaky hand, Shane took it out and brought it close to his face. The metal was cold, yet comforting to the touch as tears shot up to his eyes. He took a deep breath, shaky. His knees threatened to give out and Shane barely managed to catch himself on the counter, a quiet sob leaving his mouth.
As he turned the bracelet around, another one followed suit. Nestled in the middle, hidden once Shane put the bracelet on, a message had been engraved into the material. Connected <3.
Shane forced himself to swallow. Forced himself to take a deep breath, to calm down. The bracelet slipped onto his wrist with ease. It wasn’t too tight and because the metal was smooth, it didn’t bother him. The tears kept coming — of course Ilya had thought about the fact that Shane couldn’t wear most bracelets because their fabrics annoyed them. Of course, Ilya had thought about their jobs, and how their jewlery needed to be durable.
Even though it was late in Boston, he called Ilya.
“Miss me, H—”
“I love you.” Shane managed to say between the tears. He wanted Ilya there with him — wanted to see the way Ilya lit up as Shane wore the bracelet. Wanted to fall asleep in his boyfriend’s arms, the rest of the world be damned. With Ilya, even his list of things to do disappeared. “It’s beautiful.”
“Red string, remember?” Ilya asked. His voice was low, accent thicker than during the day. The pang of guilt was small, though. Ilya had brought this upon himself. “It’s pretty.”
“It’s beautiful.” Shane said as he looked at the bracelet now wrapped around his wrist. He never wanted to take it off — ever. He had to, he knew that. He couldn’t wear it during matches or practice, but he would wear it every other moment he could. “Thank you.”
“I have my own.” Ilya said, Shane’s phone vibrating with a message not a second later. A red bracelet adorned Ilya’s wrist, too, the same small diamond in the middle. Shane’s heart jumped. “Your mother delivered it.”
“Did you tell her what it was?”
“I did. She was excited.”
Shane had the strange urge to drive the two hours to Ottowa to give his mother a hug. She probably hadn’t expected for Shane’s red string to be attached to a Russian hockey player. To his rival, the person he was supposed to hate. And yet, she had done this. “I love you. And miss you.”
“Next week.” Ilya said into the microphone, and Shane managed his first proper breath for what felt like hours. Montreal and Boston were going head to head next week in Montreal. Ilya would be able to stay the night; they could wake up together before he continued on to Vancouver. “I can’t wait.”
“I’ll touch it, whenever I think of you.”
“I’ll be touching it all the time.” Ilya’s chuckle was soft, yet it pierced through Shane’s heart entirely. God, he wanted his boyfriend with him.
With his long list forgotten, mind quiet because of Ilya, Shane got ready for bed as his boyfriend talked. His fingers kept touching the bracelet, kept reaching for it around his wrist. As he lay in bed, Ilya still on the phone, Shane kissed the material. Soon enough, Ilya would be here, their red string as short as it could possibly be. Now, it stretched across the border, all the way to Boston. Yet, it thetered Shane, kept him firmly on the ground.